Loose Lips
by Lady Dudley
Summary: When Sherlock is drugged he lets a few things slip. Implied Sherlolly.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Another AU/missing scene from 'A Scandal in Belgravia.' I was intrigued by what Sherlock might have said while he was drugged, this is my answer. Hope you enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Loose Lips**_

"I'll burn the heart out of you…that's what he'd said John, don't you see? He meant her. We have to stop him," Sherlock muttered from where he was slumped against the car door.

"We will, Sherlock," John said, trying to be reassuring, "you need to rest first."

Sherlock drummed his fingers against his knee, "She's pretty; don't you think she's pretty John?"

John shot him an odd look, but Sherlock wasn't really paying attention to him.

"I think she's pretty," he said absently, still drumming his fingers, "burn the _heart_ out of you…" he mumbled, "how did he know? How could he _possibly_ know?"

"You really should calm down, Sherlock," John counselled.

"I can't…he's out there, watching," Sherlock shot an agitated glance out the window, "always watching…watching _her_…if he hurts her…"

"Why would he want to hurt her?" John asked, genuinely confused, "And why would you care?"

Sherlock shot him a dark look, "She's different."

John raised both eyebrows in surprise, "Women usually are."

"She's not just _any_ woman, she's _the_ woman," Sherlock corrected him.

John gaped at him, "The-? Sherlock, you're not suggesting-?"

"I'm not _suggesting_ anything," Sherlock interrupted him, irritated, "I never _suggest_ anything, I postulate the truth."

"Trust you to use big words when you're drugged," John commented sarcastically as the cab came to a stop and he leant over the pay the driver.

"Easy now," John counselled as he half-carried the other man up the stairs to their flat.

"We don't have time for this," Sherlock grumbled, "we need to get to St. Bart's."

"All in good time," John assured him as he manoeuvred Sherlock towards his bedroom.

"I'm fine," Sherlock insisted as he fell face first onto the bed.

"Of course you are," John agreed sarcastically as he rolled him onto his back and removed his shoes.

"I don't need your help," Sherlock grumbled as John pulled the sheet over him.

"My mistake."

"And I certainly don't _want_ it," Sherlock added, rolling onto his side.

"I got that, but thanks for pointing it out anyway," John replied easily.

"I want Molly," Sherlock huffed.

John froze, "Sorry, what?"

"You heard me," Sherlock grumbled, "I want Molly," he repeated, looking back over his shoulder, "she's much better at this than you are."

John gaped at him in surprise, "What?"

"No offence," Sherlock added, closing his eyes and tugging the sheet tighter around his shoulders.

"Molly? Molly Hooper?" John asked, incredulous.

Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh, "Is there another Molly?"

"No…but…"

"For someone who works with the dead she has excellent bedside manner," Sherlock explained, sounding a little drowsy, "from what I recall."

"From what you-? Sherlock, what _are_ you talking about?" John demanded.

Sherlock's only reply was a loud snore and John threw his hands up in defeat.

"You are impossible, do you know that?" he told the unconscious man, "Absolutely impossible," he muttered, leaving the room.

He sat down with a huff, glancing in the direction of Sherlock's room as he did so.

Whatever The Woman had given him had certainly loosened his tongue; John thought back over their conversation trying to make sense of it. He had been so certain that Sherlock had been talking about Irene Adler but his mention of Molly had confused him, was it unrelated or had he been talking about her all along?

He sighed heavily as he decided that the best thing he could do would be to pretend the conversation had never happened. Sherlock wasn't himself and it wouldn't be fair to try to infer anything from his ramblings.

Besides, knowing his luck, he'd get it wrong anyway.

John glanced at his door again, he was sure about one thing though: Sherlock wasn't as immune from sentiment as he liked everyone to believe.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Drugged Sherlock was too much fun to write (and may reappear down the track) and I got such a wonderful response to this that I decided to continue. Hope you enjoy it :)**

There was a woman in his room.

Only she didn't come with soft words and even softer hands, instead she was teasing and made his head hurt.

She wasn't the woman he wanted, where had _she_ gone?

"Molly?" he mumbled, stumbling out of his bed, "Molly?" he repeated, louder this time.

No response.

He tried calling for John instead and this time was rewarded with the sound of footsteps. He stumbled around the room, tangled in his sheet, and fell to the floor with a crash just as John entered the room.

"You ok?" John asked.

Sherlock looked dazed, "How did I get here?"

"Well, I don't suppose you remember much. You weren't making a lot of sense," he added, thinking back to their earlier conversation. A thought occurred to him, "Oh, I should warn you: I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone."

Sherlock wasn't really listening and he got unsteadily to his feet, "Where is she?" he asked, looking around the room.

"Where's who?"

"The woman," Sherlock muttered, "that woman."

"What woman?" John asked carefully, determined to get to the bottom of the seeming mix-up.

"_The_ woman," Sherlock grumbled, stumbling around to room, "the _woman_ woman."

"What, Irene Adler?" John clarified, "No-one saw her."

He watched as Sherlock stumbled over to the open window and peered out into the street.

"She wasn't here, Sherlock," he said flatly, feeling oddly disappointed that Sherlock had been speaking about her and not Molly.

Sherlock frowned, if the woman hadn't been there then perhaps his half-remembered dreams of Molly nursing him weren't real either.

Molly.

He had to find Molly.

Sherlock whirled around, too quickly as it turned out as he fell down again.

"What are you-?" John asked, watching as Sherlock started to drag himself towards the door. "No, no, no, no," he told him, hauling the other man to his feet and dropping him on the bed once more. "Back to bed," he commanded, pulling the sheet back over him, "you'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."

"Of course I'll be fine," Sherlock grumbled, rolling onto his side, "I am fine. I'm absolutely fine."

John stepped back, raising an eyebrow, "Yes, you're great. Now I'll be next door if you need me."

Sherlock looked at him blearily, "Why would I need you?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"No reason at all," John said with a sigh, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Sherlock blinked a couple of times in confusion, still trying to make sense of John's comment: why would he need John when he had Molly?

He frowned as he pulled the sheet tighter around his shoulders, where was Molly anyway? He was sure he'd asked for her.

He suppressed a start at the sound of a woman's sigh and looked blearily over his shoulder. Apparently his coat was back, along with his phone.

He staggered over to where it was hanging on the door, this time managing to stay mostly upright, and fished his phone out from his pocket.

_Till the next time, Mr. Holmes. _

He pursed his lips, so Irene Adler _had_ been there after all; but he didn't want her and he certainly didn't want John. He wanted Molly.

Molly with her soft voice and soothing hands. She had nursed him through the worst of his drug addiction and he had found her presence comforting; strange how he only remembered in his muddled state.

He shook his head a little, it didn't matter. She wasn't there now and it was obvious that John had no intention of getting her.

He stumbled back to the bed, wondering whether he should just message her himself. He was still considering this when he tripped over his shoes and fell face down on the bed, he was soon out cold.

He never did message Molly and, when he woke the next morning, had forgotten everything that had happened. Except for Irene's message and the faint memory (or was it a dream?) of a soothing voice and soft hands.


	3. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

Sherlock slowly regained consciousness, dimly aware of soft hands gently wiping his face with a cloth.

His eyes snapped open and he sat up, scaring the living daylights out of Molly Hooper.

"You startled me," she said, flustered as she absently pressed her free hand to her heart.

"It was you," he said flatly, grabbing her wrist.

"What?"

"You were there," he continued absently, looking passed her and searching his Mind Palace for the elusive memories.

His eyes settled on her face again, "You were there when I…you looked after me."

Molly bit her lip and looked away, "Yes I did," she gave a short laugh as she turned back, "I thought you must have forgotten. Or deleted it."

His brow creased in confusion as he searched her face, "Why?"

Molly shrugged a shoulder, "You needed me."

Once again Sherlock found himself rendered speechless by Molly Hooper, the woman who thought she didn't count despite all the evidence to the contrary.

He tightened his hold on her wrist when she tried to untangle herself from his grasp, "Don't," he ordered, "please."

Molly froze, her eyes on his face as he tried to make sense of this new revelation. Brushing the thought aside that if it had been anyone else he would have been annoyed by their scrutiny, Sherlock delved into his Mind Palace.

He hadn't been lying when he said he needed her, he just hadn't realised how true that statement was. He looked back over their relationship, including those moments he thought he had deleted, and realised that he'd always needed her and she had _always_ been there.

He looked back down at her; he'd always thought sentiment was a weakness, but somehow Molly Hooper had turned it into a strength.

She laid a tentative hand on his arm, breaking him from his thoughts, "It's all right, Sherlock," she assured him quietly.

"Molly-"

"No, really, it's all right," she insisted with a small smile.

Sherlock searched her face, realising that she had seen – _deduced_ – everything he couldn't find the words to say.

"Thank you," he said simply after a moment, releasing her.

She smiled up at him, "You're welcome."

Sherlock watched in silence as she continued to clean him up and promised himself that he would never let her feel unappreciated again.

Molly Hooper deserved better than that.

...

**A/N: This is set during/after TRF, in case you didn't get that :)**


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